Blood Ties
by Pipspebble
Summary: Back at Crickhollow Merry wonders how he can help Pippin - and himself - come to terms with Frodo's leaving Middle-earth.


Title: Blood Ties  
By: Pipspebble  
For: Marigold's Challenge #6  
Rating: G  
Hobbits: Merry and Pippin - who else?  
Setting: Crickhollow, after Frodo's departure - bookverse  
Thanks to: Marigold and Nickey, best betas in Middle-earth  
  
They parted ways on the East Road at Bywater, Merry and Pippin continuing on to Buckland, and Crickhollow, while Sam turned toward Hobbiton, and Rosie. As they rode off down the road, Merry led the two of them in song, more to sing Sam on his way and boost his spirits than to lift their own. At any rate, it was more words strung together than any of them had spoken at one time since Frodo had set foot aboard ship.  
  
None of them had wanted to talk about it. For them the grief was still too near. Merry's gut instinct told him that they dare not speak of it now, not if they hoped to get back home, as they must. All of them had duties to attend to, and it would not do for them to break down, on the road, days from home.  
  
One verse only could Merry get Pippin to sing with him until he finally gave up the effort, and they travelled the long, lonely road largely in silence, Pippin speaking only when spoken to, and even then answering with but the briefest response.  
  
In truth Merry knew that it would take far more than a song or two to help each other through the bleak days that lay ahead, particularly once they reached Crickhollow, where Frodo had often visited after the Quest. He even had his own room there, much as Merry and Pippin did at Bag End, and once they got back home memories were sure to be strong.  
  
He cast a surreptitious eye on his cousin, who seemed to be buried deep within himself, and Merry worried. For Pippin to keep all his pain bottled up was simply asking for an emotional storm. Concern for this dearest of cousins dominated Merry's thoughts, above and beyond his own heartache at Frodo's loss. The trials they had all faced on the Quest, he feared, had forced Pippin to grow up too fast. His majority was still nearly two years away, and yet he wore the countenance of a veteran of many ordeals. Pippin had lost his innocence in the War of the Ring, he had very nearly lost his life before the Black Gate, and his struggle for survival and healing had been a hard fought one.  
  
Victory had been achieved, of course, but their losses had been dear, with many goodbyes hard to bear, and none had been harder than the most recent on the shores of the sea. Now they had bid farewell to not only Bilbo and Gandalf, but also Frodo; dear, dear Frodo, the cousin they both adored, and who had likewise adored them, for the whole of their lives. How were they ever to adjust to life without him?  
  
"How are we going to live without him, Merry?" Pippin voiced his cousin's thoughts. "How can there be a Shire without Frodo?"  
  
Merry closed his eyes against the agony of Pippin's words, having no easy answer for him. The only thing he knew for certain was that it was going to take time to adjust to the reality of Frodo's absence. Indeed, they had all been tied to each other for so long that he did not know how they were going to live in a world without him. He only knew that they must.  
  
Sidling his pony closer to Pippin's, Merry reached out and touched his cousin's hands, clenched tightly on the reins. Shimmering green eyes met his own and Merry saw him swallow hard before he continued in a sad little voice that did not belong to his Pippin at all.  
  
"I've been thinking all the way back, Merry, going through my memories, of Bilbo, and especially Frodo. Do you know, I think I remember every single night I spent at Bag End with them? Most of the time you were there as well. I remember every party they ever hosted, every time Frodo took us to the fair or for a tramp, every time he comforted a frightened little hobbit lad awakened by a storm. I can't recall a day of my life when I did not think of him, or look forward to when I would see him next to tell him of something I had accomplished, or seen, or needed to ask him about. Now he is gone, and we shall never see him again. I don't know how to live with that."  
  
For once Merry did not know what to say, for how could he answer when he did not know himself? How could he comfort his sensitive young cousin so that he could get through the days ahead? He could not deny what they both knew was true; that Frodo's departure was the worst wound either of them had ever sustained, and that somehow, together, they were going to have to work themselves through it.  
  
"Neither do I, Pippin," he admitted. "But we shall find a way, you and I. Let us just take small steps for now. Home lies ahead, not two days down the road. Let us simply concentrate on getting there before we start worrying about how we are going to live our days after we do."  
  
Pippin nodded, tightening his lips in determination and Merry's heart squeezed a bit more at the new maturity in his eyes, those eyes that had once shone with wonder and merriment and an unquenchable cheerfulness that spread to all those around him. But that was not his Pippin now.  
  
They pushed the ponies and stayed what remained of the night in an inn at the intersection of the East Road and Oatbarton Road. While Pippin saw the ponies to the stables, Merry posted a quick note to Buckland by special messenger to alert his parents to what had transpired, and saw it sent on its way. When they finally reached Crickhollow the day after tomorrow, they would no doubt have all the comforts of home awaiting them. He had told his mother only enough that she would understand the need for them to be left alone, to come to terms with their grief in their own way. Mum being Mum, he had no doubt that she would keep folk away for a while, and that good food, hot baths and freshly turned beds would greet their arrival.  
  
That night his cousin wept silent tears, tears that would come only in his sleep, tears he would not show in the light of day. Merry simply held him, and quietly shed a few of his own.  
  
The next day they continued their journey more or less as they had the day before, largely in silence, listening to the birds in the trees, the song of the wind rustling through leaves turned bright with autumn's hues. Evening fell and they camped the night in a woody copse, huddled together for warmth, and again Pippin cried in his sleep. Again Merry held him through the night.  
  
They broke camp early the next morning, and spent the day much as the day before, speaking only when necessary, each lost in his own thoughts, his own pain. It was afternoon when they finally made their way up the path leading to the house. The sun filtered through the trees, making shadowy patterns on the path to the stables, where they dismounted and led their ponies inside. They removed their packs and all their trappings, working together to brush the ponies down and give them food, water and fresh hay, all the while maintaining a silence that weighed heavy in the air. At last, all was done and they wearily picked up their gear and headed for the house.  
  
Merry glanced again at Pippin, noting the stiff control the lad was obviously doing his best to maintain, and he wanted to reach out to him, but he dared not until he sensed Pippin could handle the contact. At the moment he was as tightly strung as an elven bow, his face as stony as one of Bilbo's trolls.  
  
They opened the front door to warmth, and the smell of fresh baked bread and his mother's chicken stew. Leaving his pack in the foyer, Merry moved down the hall to the study, where a fire burned steadily in the grate, and on the mantelpiece above found a note folded in half, addressed to him. He retrieved it, read its brief contents and smiled as he returned to Pippin, note in hand.  
  
"Seems Mum thought we might use some help today," he explained to his still silent cousin. "She's brought food, heated the bathwater, set things ready for tea. And gone back to the Hall." Bless Mum, he thought, grateful for her Took generosity, her gracious acceptance of their need to be alone, particularly at a time like this. She had been close to Frodo as well, and this would be hard on her, too.  
  
"Why don't you go ahead and take advantage of her thoughtfulness, Pippin?" he suggested, concerned at the lad's continued silence, thinking that if anything could thaw him out it would be a nice hot bath. "O, water hot is a noble thing, remember?" he added, hoping for at least a little bit of a response. Instead, Pippin merely nodded and, turning, shuffled off to his room, dragging his pack behind him. Shaking his head, Merry continued into the kitchen and put the kettle on for tea.  
  
He swept his eyes around the cozy room where so many of his good memories were made, and realised that everywhere he looked he saw Frodo; sitting at the table eating scones, standing at the basin helping with the washing up after a big meal, sweeping the floor after one of Pippin's culinary disasters.  
  
The memories parading in his head switched to Bag End, where both he and Pippin had visited so often, and where so much time had been spent in Frodo's own kitchen, where he had certainly tried to prove he was the best host ever. Merry found he was remembering all the times he had spent under Frodo's roof, often with Pippin by his side, when the two of them would lounge on Frodo's rug before a roaring fire as their elder cousin read to them from a book of elven lore.  
  
The love that permeated those memories was painful, yet precious, and Merry closed his eyes against the grief of knowing that Frodo would never set foot in this kitchen again, nor his own. Though it hurt so to remember those times now, Merry never wanted to forget them.  
  
Sighing a little, he went about preparing the tea, set the pot and two cups on a tray along with a plate of biscuits and carried it all to the bathing room at the far end of the passage. He pushed open the door to find Pippin lying back with his eyes closed in one of the three tubs that dominated the room, two of which were filled to the brim. A copper full of boiling water sat in the corner, there were mats on the floor and thick, soft towels close by. Blessed Mum, she really did think of everything.  
  
Merry pulled up a small table between the tubs and set the tray atop it. Then he peeled off his clothes and stepped into the water, sighing as the heat seeped into his weary bones, loosening muscles held tight for far too long.  
  
All was still and silent, only the sound of the water gently lapping against the sides of the tubs marring the quiet of the room. Gradually Merry became aware of the chirping of birds outside in the hazel thicket, and of a gentle hum from beside him. He glanced over to his cousin and smiled to see his head back, eyes closed, mouth slack in sleep. Poor lad, he was that tired.  
  
But now was not the time or the place for him to sleep, and not on an empty stomach. It would be far more practical to wake him now and let him eat well, then they both could sleep better later. He reached over and stroked Pippin's cheek with the backs of his fingers.  
  
"Pippin."  
  
The younger hobbit jarred awake, shaking his head as if to clear it, blinking blearily at Merry. "Wha'?"  
  
Merry gestured to the tray between them, and the cups he had already filled with tea. Pippin's eyes opened fully and the corners of his mouth turned up just a bit.  
  
"O blessed Meriadoc," he said with a sigh, reaching for a cup and a biscuit. "You always know exactly the right thing to do."  
  
"Not always, Pip," Merry said quietly, picking up his own cup and taking a cautious sip.  
  
"Just with me," Pippin returned, favoring him with the sweetest of smiles. Merry grinned, but did not deny it.  
  
They took their tea in silence, each seemingly absorbed in his own thoughts. After a while Pippin set down his cup and began to speak.  
  
"Do you remember, Merry, the night before we left on the Quest? Frodo and Sam and I were so tired and cold and hungry and you were all ready for us. You ushered us right inside, took our packs and showed us to the bathing room, where you had a steaming tub ready and waiting for each of us."  
  
Merry's smile deepened, recalling the scene in vivid detail. "You made a right mess of things, if I recall correctly. Singing at the top of your lungs, splashing your feet, emptying half the water in your tub onto the floor with your high spirits. Poor Frodo had to leave the room to dry his hair, there was so much water in the air."  
  
His name hung heavily between them. Merry peered over at his cousin to find him smiling softly, sweetly. "Frodo," Pippin said, almost reverently. "Dear, dear Frodo. How I shall miss him."  
  
"As shall I," Merry said, looking closer, wondering if this was the moment when Pippin would share his grief. But Pippin merely slid down in the tub, his curly head disappearing beneath the surface until Merry could see only the still water. After a moment, he emerged and sat up, wiping water from his eyes before reaching for the soap and brush. Wordlessly, he began scrubbing almost angrily at his body, then lathered his hair and worked his fingers through its curly mass. Once again he disappeared beneath the water and in just a few moments popped back up and announced himself finished. He stood up, stepped out of the tub and reached for a bath sheet. Swathing himself in it, he abruptly left the room, leaving Merry very alone, very sad and more worried than ever.  
  
Sighing, Merry picked up his soap and lathered his body and hair, ducked beneath the water and rinsed before reaching for and pulling the stopper from the tub. As the water began to drain into the channel that would empty it outside, he rose and stepped out, toweling himself dry before wrapping it around his waist and padding out of the bathing room and down the hall toward his and Pippin's rooms. Though they maintained separate rooms, more often than not they ended up in the same bed, for comfort, and warmth, and protection against the terrors that often beset them in the netherworld of their dreams.  
  
The door to Pippin's room was open and Merry peered inside, found it empty, the discarded bath sheet draped over the back of a chair. He stopped off in his room and donned clean clothes then returned to the kitchen, where he found his cousin setting plates and bowls on the table. Pippin looked up as Merry entered the room, and his face was calm, though pale, as he favored his cousin with a smile.  
  
"Come and eat, Merry," he said, gesturing toward an empty chair. "Auntie has sent the most marvelous stew, full of potatoes and leeks and carrots and chicken. And fresh baked bread with butter and an apple cobbler for filling up the corners. She thinks of everything, doesn't she?"  
  
Merry nodded agreement and took his seat, and Pippin his, and they occupied themselves for a good while with ladling the stew into bowls, buttering their bread, and eating as they had not for several days, for neither of them had had an appetite on the road back from the Grey Havens. They finally filled up every corner they had and sat back, patting their stomachs with satisfaction.  
  
"What we need now is a good pipe," Merry suggested, and Pippin nodded, but stood instead and silently began to stack the plates and bowls and spoons into the basin. "Leave them, Pippin. Let's sit outside for a bit and have a smoke. The Sun will be setting soon and the skies will turn pink, then dark blue with evening's fall."  
  
Pip shrugged and followed Merry outside, where they sat in whicker rockers and smoked their pipes while looking out over the land. They quietly watched as the Sun painted the sky with rose and lavender and finally dark blue. All was dark when Pippin finally broke the silence.  
  
"Dark blue," he sighed. "Like Frodo's eyes."  
  
Merry turned his head in Pippin's direction, could see just the palest outline of his cousin's face, but that was enough to highlight the chin, determinedly set, yet wobbling ever so slightly. "Pippin?"  
  
"Nobody had eyes like Frodo's. Large and luminous and the deepest blue in all of Middle-earth, as blue as the skies above the Brandywine on a clear summer's day." His breath hitched in his throat and he cleared it before continuing, his voice barely audible. "Now we will never see them again, and it hurts my heart, Merry. It hurts my heart to know that we can never again look into those beautiful blue eyes and see reflected back in them the love he so freely gave."  
  
Merry set aside his pipe, got up from his chair and moved to kneel at Pippin's side. He took his cousin's hands in both of his, his thumb rubbing lightly. "He gave love so freely because he loved us so greatly, Pippin," he said gently. "He knew we could not long bear to see him suffer, and his suffering grew day by day. 'Twas only a matter of time before it brought him down."  
  
Pippin looked at him then, and Merry's heart ached to see the tragedy in his young cousin's face. Clearly Pippin's heart was broken, but it was also clear that he understood the choice their elder cousin had made. "I know, Merry," he said quietly, his breath coming quickly, his eyes leaking tears that at long last broke through. "I am just going to miss him, that's all. I'm going to miss him so very much."  
  
His head slumped, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, and tears fell heedlessly from his cheeks, dripping onto their hands. "Oh, my Pippin," Merry murmured, reaching for him. With a little whimper, Pippin keeled over into Merry's arms and they sank together onto the floor of the porch. Merry leaned against a supporting post and they held tightly to each other, sharing their grief at last. "It will be all right, dearest, it will be all right. It is just going to take some time, you know."  
  
Pippin sniffled, his face buried in Merry's shirt. "Frodo always called me 'dearest'," he said, his voice quavering.  
  
Merry smiled and tightened his arms, rocking gently, remembering. "Yes, he did. But before you came along 'twas me who was his 'dearest'."  
  
"And then we were both his 'dearest'," Pippin said in a very small voice. A fresh wave of weeping shook the tweenager, transmitted itself to Merry's barely contained grief and before long his own tears flowed as freely as those of his cousin. He rubbed Pippin's back in soothing little circles as they wept together, taking comfort in each other's arms.  
  
"Aye, that we were," Merry finally managed to respond, stroking softly the hair at the back of Pippin's head, still buried in his shoulder. "We were 'dearest' to one who was most dear, and we could not ask for more than that. We must not begrudge Frodo his reward, Pippin, nor mourn overmuch because he has gone to claim it. That is not what he would want. He would want us to carry on, and to do our best and to remember that we three are of the same blood, and thus our actions will reflect upon each other always. We must carry on, for not to do so would diminish the blood ties between us."  
  
Pippin lifted his head and looked straight on at Merry. "Then I suppose that is what we are going to have to do," he said and it seemed to Merry that a change had come over his young cousin in a matter of moments. Perhaps the purging nature of a good bout of tears was exactly what they both needed. Now they would be able to get on with the business of getting on. As Frodo would want them to do.  
  
"Aye, my Pippin," Merry agreed, settling more comfortably back against the post, his arm more snugly around his cousin. "We shall carry on."  
  
"Together," Pippin added, leaning his head on Merry's shoulder. "As always."  
  
Merry smiled and pressed his lips against Pippin's curly head, planting a fervent kiss. "Yes, dearest. As always."  
  
They sat together and watched the stars come out one by one, remembering now without pain their other dearest, and wishing him a fair journey to his reward. 


End file.
